Death to the Many
by DashOfPeppers
Summary: The rebellion took much, and they all saw it. The fetid scent of blood and ash in the air, falling like rain onto their roofs. Focusing on the Mage Templar Rebellion, and how it morphed Thedas in a bloody war.


_Clawing._

So much clawing, long nails running wildly against wooden doors, like a hungry mabari pup begging his master to feed him the scraps of lamb of the evening supper. The hilt of his sword dug into his palm as he gripped it in a vice, back pressed against the door and feeling the scratches rake into the wood on the other side. Draston was beside him, rattling in his armor and sweat beading down his face. His skin was pale, the blood drained from his youthful cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at the door, unblinking. His breath was sharp, and as much as Gavin tried to calm him down, the near-hysterical panting of Draston would never cease. And so Gavin let him shake in his armor, clasping his sword in a white-knuckled grip, and sweat his lyrium away.

 _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter…_

There was a piercing howl, like a sword rearing against glass, and the door buckled under a great force. Gavin grit his teeth when he was almost thrown off balance, staggering on his feet as Daston stared with an open mouth, before Gavin threw himself back onto the wood. The force receded with an angry hiss, and then all was silent again.

Gavin had no armor. He had shed it at the evening, his watch completed and he was given a night to relax. Maker, he should have known. The Veil was shuddering all about them for days, like a foul taste at the back of their throats, and they had all been _trained_ to notice it.

But they did not, and Gavin and Draston were left trapped in a supply room, the scent of ice and rotting blood swathing their nostrils. No other templar came to aid them. Gavin knew what that meant.

Draston did not. Gavin let him hold onto that vain hope that help was coming and prayed he would buy into the lie for long enough.

The door rattled again at his back, the vibration shivering down his spine, as the shriek began anew. Gavin shifted the grip of his sword, leaped off the door, and allowed it to burst open. There was a form, twisted limbs wiggling about in the shadows, and skin mangled in burns and boils, smelling of moldy cheese and blood, that reared and roared at him. He swung his sword, the veins in his arms glowing with lyrium, and once the blade touched the flesh, the form melted away, howling a bubbling gurgle. He would have had time to thrust again had another not clawed his arm, cold clammy skin gripping onto his wrist. He pulled back and slammed the door shut, screaming still echoing into the store room.

 _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

Draston was quivering, fitting himself in the corner of the room, clutching his weapon like a child would a doll. Gavin called for him. He did not answer. The door began to rattle again. The shrieks were louder, stronger, and joined by new companions. Time was falling away.

"Draston!"

The boy blinked with owlish eyes, as if to awaken from a trance, and acknowledged Gavin with his petrified gaze. The door was thrumming now. He held it back with a heavy back and a sharp snarl.

"Draston, we need to get out of here."

The young templar made a noise in his throat, choked with terror and misgivings, as his gaze danced from the door and back to Gavin. What of the others? he seemed to ask, with pleading eyes. Gavin's jaw hardened as the shrieks grew cacophonous.

"The others…" he began carefully, "will not get here quickly enough. We need to leave before we're overwhelmed." Judging by the the rattling, they may already be overwhelmed, but he felt no inclination to mention that to Draston.

 _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow…_

The templar nodded, his movements quick and jolted, as he wrestled with loosening his grip from the sword and shift it to a more comfortable position. Likely, the fingers were frozen in fear, aching and cramped with how tightly he gripped it, unable to feel the shift of muscles in his wrists because everything was numb, so numb, he couldn't feel anything-

"Oi," Gavin snapped, reaching out a hand to grasp Draston on the shoulder and waited for him to look him in the eyes. "Calm down, boy. You're a templar. You've been trained and admitted into the Order. We trust you." The boy released a shaky breath, and he could almost feel the shivering of his shoulders as he fought away the panic. Gavin understood. _Maker,_ he understood, but the boy was too jumpy to let Gavin convey it. So, instead, he clapped Draston on the back, and felt the door shake violently, the hinges groaning under the stress.

"I go first," he growled low, under the howls and mangled moans from the outside; he hoped the boy could hear him. "You come-"

Suddenly, the door splintered open, the shards raining over his cheeks, and slender arms slipping into the cracks, clawing at Gavin's clothes and pulling him back. He tore away, the door fell off its hinges, and then Gavin gripped Draston's breastplate and tore out.

So much wailing. So many shouts. Some of the demons mimicked their comrades, horrid screams from brothers-in-arms begging for them to stay, and others shouting at them to leave. When his blade connected into them, they sounded just as his brothers would sound if they were mangled and bleeding, wounded by one of their own, howling to the ceiling and begging for the pain to flood away.

"Traitors!" one howled, its gaping maw detached from its skull, wagging like a broken string, yet sounding so much like one of their own. "You'll pay for killing us all!"

Gavin gut it quickly. He heard Draston crying behind him. But he still fought. Praise the Maker, the training was strong with Draston, and he fought.

The hallways were shrewn in mangled bodies, their blood streaked across the walls like crimson paint; some mages, but most templars, their armor charred and blackened and their flesh burned from the inside. Gavin dared not to look upon their faces, and ignored the smaller forms entirely. He pulled Draston along, the demons at their heels; they could not fight them here, in such an enclosed space, and not as outnumbered as they were. Draston stopped crying they were forced to step on the bodies to flee, and instead made strange heaving sounds, pulling away from his older companion. Gavin did not let him stop.

They rounded the library, the heat roaring in their faces as the fire licked hungrily at the books, demons crawling over the shelves and howling their mangled noises at the passing templars. The bodies piled higher and higher, growing more numerous as they littered the halls, Draston practically a sack of grain in his grip, and then-

The entrance hall loomed at them, and Gavin halted in his flight.

Such a rancid, fetid, _clawing_ scent of burning flesh, so overpowering it _choked_ them, leaving their eyes watering and their stomach churning for respite. The bodies piled-oh, how they _piled-_ like husks of grass in a vast plain, too many to count, too many to recall. The armor melted into the templar forms, a ghastly combination of flesh and metal, their helms still burned and blackened and _thankfully_ hiding their faces. The mages were less so fortunate, their robes offering no protection and leaving their entire bodies contorted to inhuman angles and positions, reaching so far in its wrongness Draston finally couldn't hold it in and vomited at his feet. Gavin didn't give him the decency to keel over and wipe it away from his mouth, hauling him back to his feet the moment he crouched and throwing him to the side.

A ball of fire surged past Gavin, so close to his cheek it _hurt_ and burned the tips of his hair. The ball exploded behind them and into the wall of demons that had pursued them through the Circle, their shrieks dying out with an alarming cough before tumbling to the ground. Gavin spun, watching the rage demon slide across the entryway, head swaying mockingly as it gurgled a crooning laughter.

The lyrium boiled in Gavin's belly as he spun his sword in his hand and hissed to Draston, "Run."

Draston sputtered. "What?"

"Do as I say and _run!"_ He heaved Draston forward, away from the demon, as he followed close behind, barking a chant to dispel the lingering magic in the air, the lyrium flooding away from his veins. It would not hold back the demon, but it would slow him down, just enough for them to slip past…

Draston howled and tumbled to his knees, something clawing at his shin and squealing maniacally. Gavin was at his side in moments, chopping the arm off of the demon hiding in the bodies, and shoved his foot into Draston's rump.

" _Run,_ blight you!"

The boy jumped to his feet, his sword forgotten in the midst of the chaos, and Gavin too far away to grab it. The door was so close. So close to freedom, to air, to an escape to this burning heat at his back-

A scream tore from his lungs as he felt fire, such sharp burning and _agony_ as it ate away at his back and lit his clothes in flames. Draston spun and screamed his name.

"GO!"

 _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter._

He tore his shirt off, sword singing its deadly arc as it tore through an assailing demon's chest. He kept running, assured that Draston would make it there first, that he would hold the door open and they would both make it through-

More pain, at his legs, two strong _vices_ at his shins and squeezing, their claws sinking into his flesh. His scream rankled through the hallway.

 _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

The lyrium burned through the the demon's bones, the creature moaning as it released him from his hold, and Gavin staggered forward, chest heaving and throat painfully raw.

 _Blessed are the righteous..._

Draston was already at the door, light bleeding through the opening and beckoning him to run. His grip was stone-tight against the hilt of his sword as he ran, screams all around him, caving in on him.

 _...the lights in the shadow._

More pain, more burning, more _fire,_ as the crackling roar of a rage demon hissed just above him.

 _In their blood…_

Fire at his back, at his arms, at his chest, holding him, claws formed all around him as he screamed at Draston to run, and then a clammy palm pressing against his lips.

 _...the Maker's will…_

Heat. Such heat. Such pain. Such _agony._ Red blood, white sky, screaming sounds all around him, and then-

Darkness.

 _..is written._

 _Benedictions 4:10-11._


End file.
